Discipline: A Novel

CHAPTER XXI.

I was now in a situation which might have alarmed the fears
even of one born to penury and inured to hardship. Every day
diminished a pittance which I had no means of replacing; and, in
an isolation which debarred me alike from sympathy and protection,
I was suffering the penalty of that perverse temper, which
had preferred exile among strangers to an imaginary degradation
among "my own people."

As it became absolutely necessary to discover some means of
immediate subsistence, I expended part of my slender finances in
advertising my wishes and qualifications; but not one inquiry did
the advertisement produce. Perhaps the Scottish mothers in
those days insisted upon some acquaintance with the woman to
whom they committed the education of their daughters, beyond
what was necessary to ascertain her knowledge of the various
arts of squandering time. I endeavoured to ward off actual
want by such pastime work as had once ministered to my amusement,
and afterwards to my convenience; but I soon found that
my labours were as useless as they were light; for Edinburgh, at
that time, contained no market for the fruits of feminine ingenuity.

In such emergency it is not to be wondered if my spirits
faltered. My improvident lightness of heart forsook me; and
though I often resolved to face the storm bravely, I resolved it
with the tears in my eyes. I asked myself a hundred times a day,
what better dependence I could wish than on goodness which
would never withhold, and power which could never be exhausted?
And yet a hundred times a day I looked forward as anxiously as
if my dependence had been upon the vapour tossed by the wind.
I felt that, though I had possessed the treasures of the earth, the
blessing of Heaven would have been necessary to me; and I knew
that it would be sufficient, although that earth should vanish from
her place. Yet I often examined my decaying means of support
as mournfully as if I had reversed the sentiment of the Roman;
and "to live," had been the only thing necessary.

I was thus engaged one morning, when I heard the voice of
Murray inquiring for me. Longing to meet once more the glance
of a friendly eye, I was more than half tempted to retract my
general order for his exclusion. I had only a moment to weigh
the question, yet the prudent side prevailed; because, if the
truth must be told, I chanced just then to look into my glass;
and was ill satisfied with the appearance of my swoln eyes and
colourless cheeks; so well did the motives of my unpremeditated
actions furnish a clue to the original defects of my mind. However,
though I dare not say that my decision was wise, I may at
least call it fortunate; since it probably saved me from one of
those frothy passions which idleness, such as I was condemned
to, sometimes engenders in the heads of those whose hearts are
by nature placed in unassailable security. This ordinary form of
the passion was certainly the only one in which it could then have
affected me; for what woman, educated as I had been, early
initiated like me into heartless dissipation, was ever capable of
that deep, generous, self-devoting sentiment, which, in retirement,
springs amid mutual charities and mutual pursuits; links itself
with every interest of this life, and twines itself even with the
hopes of immortality? My affections and my imagination were
yet to receive their culture in the native land of strong attachment,
ere I could be capable of such a sentiment.

As I persevered in excluding Murray, the only being with
whom I could now exchange sympathies was my new Highland
friend, Cecil Graham. I often saw her; and when I had a little
conquered my disgust at the filth and disorder of her dwelling,
I found my visits there as amusing as many of more "pomp and
circumstance." She was to me an entirely new specimen of human
character; an odd mixture of good sense and superstition,--of
minute parsimony and liberal kindness,--of shrewd observation, and
a kind of romantic abstraction from sensible objects. Everything
that was said or done suggested to her memory an adventure of some
"gallant Graham," or to her fancy the agency of some unseen being.

I had heard Maitland praise the variety, grace, and vigour of
the Gaelic language. "If we should ever meet again," thought
I, "I should like to surprise him pleasantly;" so, in mere dearth
of other employment, I obliged Cecil to instruct me in her
mother-tongue. The undertaking was no doubt a bold one, for I
had no access to Gaelic books; nor if I had could Cecil have read
one page of them, though she could laboriously decipher a little
English. But I cannot recollect that I was ever deterred by
difficulty. While Cecil was busy at her spinning, I made her
translate every name and phrase which occurred to me; tried to
imitate the uncouth sounds she uttered; and then wrote them
down with vast expense of consonants and labour. My progress
would, however, have been impossible, if Cecil's dialect had been
as perplexing to me as that of the Lowlanders of her own rank.
But though her language was not exactly English, it certainly
was not Scotch. It was foreign rather than provincial. It was
often odd, but seldom unintelligible. "I learnt by book," said
she, once when I complimented her on this subject; "and I had a
good deal of English; though I have lost some of it now, speaking
among this uncultivate' people."

Cecil, who had no idea that labour could be its own reward,
was very desirous to unriddle my perseverance in the study of
Gaelic. But she never questioned me directly; for, with all her
honesty, Cecil liked to exert her ingenuity in discovering byways
to her purpose. "You'll be thinking of going to the North
Country?" said she one day, in the tone of interrogation. I told
her I had no such expectation. "You'll may be get a good
husband to take you there yet; and that's what I am sure I
wish," said Cecil; as if she thought she had invocated for me the
sum of all earthly good.

"Thank you, Cecil: I am afraid I have no great chance."

"You don't know," answered Cecil, in a voice of encouragement.
"Lady Eredine hersel' was but a Southron, with your leave."

I laughed, for I had observed that Cecil always used this latter
form of apology when she had occasion to mention anything mean
or offensive. "How came the laird," said I, "to marry one who
was but a Southron?"

"Indeed, she was just his fortune, lady," said Cecil, "and he
could not go past her. And Mr. Kenneth himsel' too is ordained,
if he live, save him, to one from your country."

"Have you the second-sight, Cecil, that you know so well what
is ordained for Mr. Kenneth?"

"No, no, lady," said Cecil, shaking her head with great
solemnity, "if you'll believe me, I never saw anything by
common. But we have a word that goes in our country, that 'a
doe will come from the stranger's land to couch in the best den in
Glen Eredine.' And the wisest man in Killifoildich, and that's
Donald MacIan, told me, that 'the loveliest of the Saxon flowers
would root and spread next the hall hearth of Castle Eredine.'"

"A very flattering prophecy indeed, Cecil; and if you can only
make it clear that it belongs to me, I must set out for Glen Eredine,
and push my fortune."

"That's not to laugh at, lady," said Cecil very gravely; "there's
nobody can tell where a blessing may light. You might even get our
dear Mr. Henry himsel', if he knew but what a good lady you are"

Now this "Mr. Henry himsel'" was Cecil's hero. She thought
Mr. Kenneth, indeed, entitled to precedence as the elder brother
and heir-apparent; but her affections plainly inclined towards
Henry. He was her constant theme. Wherever her tales began,
they always ended in the praises of Henry Graham. She told me
a hundred anecdotes to illustrate his contempt of danger, his scorn
of effeminacy, his condescension and liberality; and twice as many
which illustrated nothing but her enthusiasm upon the subject.
Her enthusiasm had indeed warmth and nature enough to be
contagious. Henry Graham soon ceased to be a mere stranger
to me. I listened to her tales till I knew how to picture his air
and gesture,--till I learned to anticipate his conduct like that of
an old acquaintance; and till Cecil herself was not more prepared
than I to expect from him everything noble, resolute, and kind.

To her inexpressible sorrow, however, this idol of her fancy was
only an occasional visitor in Glen Eredine; for which misfortune
she accounted as follows:--

"It will be twenty years at Michaelmas, since some of that Clan
Alpine, who, by your leave, were never what they should be, came
and lifted the cattle of Glen Eredine; and no less would serve them
but they took Lady Eredine's oun cow, that was called Lady
Eredine after the lady's oun sel'. Well! you may judge, lady, if
Eredine was the man to let them keep that with peace and pleasure.
Good troth, the laird swore that he would have them all
back, hoof and horn, if there was a stout heart in Glen Eredine.
Mr. Kenneth was in the town then at his learning; more was the
pity--but it was not his fault that he was not there to fight for's
oun. So the laird would ha' won the beasts home himsel', and that
would he. But Mr. Henry was just set upon going; and he begged
so long and so sore, that the laird just let him take's will. Donald
MacIan minds it all; for he was standing next the laird's own
chair when he laid's hand upon Mr. Henry's head, and says he,
'Boy,' says he, ' I am sure you'll never shame Glen Eredine and
come back empty-handed.' And then his honour gave a bid nod
with's head to Donald, as much as bid him be near Mr. Henry;
and Donald told me his heart grew great, and it was no gi'en him
to say one word; but thinks he, 'I shall be cutted in inches before
he miss me away from him.'

"So ye see, there were none went but Donald and three more; for
Mr. Henry said that he would make no more dispeace than
enough; so much forethought had he, although he was but, I may
say, a child; and Donald me that he followed these cattle by the
lay of the heather, just as if he had been thirty years of age; for
the eagle has not an eye like his; ay, and he travelled the whole
day without so much as stopping to break bread, although you
may well think, lady, that, in those days, his teeth were longer
than's beard. And at night he rolled him in's plaid, and laid
him down with the rest, as many other good gentles have done
before, when we had no inns, nor coaches, nor such like niceties.

"Well! in the morning he's astir before the roes; and, with
grey light, the first sight he sees coming down Bonoghrie is the
Glen Eredine cattle, and Lady Eredine the foremost. And there
was Neil Roy, Vich Roban, and Callum Dubh, and five or six
others little worth, with your leave; and Donald knew not how
many more might be in the shealing. Ill days were then; for the
red soldiers were come in long before that, and they had taken
away both dirk and gun; ay, and the very claymore that Ronald
Graham wagged in's hand o'er Colin Campbell's neck, was taken
and a'. So he that was born to as many good swords, and
targes, and dirks, as would have busked all Glen Eredine, had
no a weapon to lift but what grew on's oun hazels! But
the Grahams, lady, will grip to their foe when the death-stound's
in their fingers. So Mr. Henry he stood foremost, as was well
his due; and he bade Neil Roy to give up these beasts with
peace. Well! what think you, lady? the fellow, with your
leave, had the face to tell the laird's son that he had ta'en, and
he would keep. 'If you can,' quo' Mr. Henry, 'with your eight
men against five.' Then Neil he swore that the like should
never be said of him; and he bade Mr. Henry choose any
five of his company to fight the Glen Eredine men. 'A bargain!'
says Mr. Henry, 'so Neil I choose you; and shame
befa' the Graham that takes no the stoutest foe he finds.' Och
on! lady, if you did but hear Donald tell of that fight. It
would make your very skin creep cold. Well, Mr. Henry he
held off himsel' so well that Neil at the length flew up in a
rage, and out with's dirk to stick her in our sweet lamb's
heart; but she was guided to light in's arm. Then Donald he
got sight of the blood, and he to Neil like a hawk on a muir-hen,
and gripped him with both's hands round the throat, and
held him there till the dirk fell out of's fingers; and all the
time Callum Dubh was threshing at Donald as had he been corn,
but Donald never heeded. Then Mr. Henry was so good that he
ordered to let Neil go, and helped him up with's oun hand; but
he flung the dirk as far as he could look at her.

"Well! by this time two of the Macgregors had their backs to
the earth; so the Glen Eredine men that had settled them,
shouted and hurra'd, and away to the cattle. And one cried
Lady Eredine, and the other cried Dubh-bhoidheach; and the
poor beasts knew their voices and came to them. But Mr. Henry
caused save Janet Donelach's cows first, because she was a widow,
and had four young mouths to fill. Be's will, one way or other,
they took the cattle, as the laird had said, hoof and horn; and
the Aberfoyle men durst not lift a hand to hinder them, because
Neil had bound himsel' under promise, that none but five should
meddle."

"But Cecil," interrupted I, growing weary of this rude story,
"what has all this to do with Henry Graham's exile from Glen
Eredine?"

"Yes, lady," answered Cecil, "it has to do; for it was the very
thing that parted him from's own. For, you see, the Southron
sheriffs were set up before that time; and the laird himsel' could
not get's will of any body, as he had a good right; for they
must meddle, with your leave, in everything. The thistle's beard
must na' flee by, but they must catch and look into. So when
the sheriff heard of the Glen Eredine spraith, he sent out the red
soldiers, and took Neil Roy, and Callum Dubh, and prisoned
them in Stirling Castle; and the word went that they were to be
hanged, with your leave, if witness could be had against them;
and Donald, and the rest of them that fought the Aberfoyle men,
were bidden come and swear again' them. Then the word gaed
that the sheriff would have Mr. Henry too; but Lady Eredine
being a Southron herself, with your leave, was always wishing to
send Mr. Henry to the strangers, so now she harped upon the
laird till he just let her take her will.

"So, rather than spill man's life, Mr. Henry left both friend
and foster-brother, and them that could have kissed the ground
he trode upon. Och hone! Either I mind that day, or else I
have been well told of; for it comes like a dream to me, how my
mother took me up in her arms, and followed him down the glen.
Young and old were there; and the piper he went foremost
playing the lament. Not one spake above their breath. My
mother wouldno' make up to bid farewell: but when she had gone
till she was no' able for more, she stood and looked, and sent her
blessing with him--wishing him well back, and soon. But the
babies that were in arms that day ran miles to meet him the next
time he saw Glen Eredine."

"And what became of the two prisoners?" I inquired at the
close of this long story.

"Deed, lady," replied Cecil, "they were just forced to let them
out again; for two of our lads hid themselves not to bear witness;
and as for Donald MacIan and Duncan Bane, they answered so
wisely that nobody could make mischief of what they said. So
Neil, that very night he was let out, he lifted four of the sheriff's
cows, just for a warning to him; and drave them to Glen Eredine,
in a compliment to Mr. Henry."

This tale, and twenty others of the same sort, while they
strengthened my interest in Cecil's hero, awakened some curiosity
to witness the singular manners which they described. I was not
aware how much the innovations and oppressions of twenty years
had defaced the bold peculiarities of Highland character; how,
stripped of their national garb, deprived of the weapons which
were at once their ornament, amusement, and defence, this hardy
race had bent beneath their fate, seeking safety in evasion, and
power in deceit. Nor did I at all suspect how much my ignorance
of their language disqualified me from observing their remaining
characteristics.

But curiosity is seldom very troublesome to the poor; and the
vulgar fear of want was soon strong enough to divert my interest
from all that Cecil could tell me of the romantic barbarism of
her countrymen; or of the bright eye, the manly port, the primitive
hardihood, and the considerate benevolence of Henry Graham.

I was soon obliged to apply to her for information of a different
kind. My wretched fund was absolutely exhausted, and still no
prospect opened of employment in any form. Having no longer
the means of procuring a decent shelter, I seemed inevitably
doomed to be destitute and homeless. One resource, indeed,
remained to me in the plain but decent wardrobe which I had
brought to Scotland. It is true, this could furnish only a short-lived
abundance, since principle, no less than convenience, had
prescribed to me frugality in my attire; but our ideas accommodate
themselves to our fortunes; and I, who once should have thought
myself beggared if reduced to spend £500 a year, now rejoiced
over a provision for the wants of one week as over treasure inexhaustible.

I found it easier, however, to resolve upon parting with my
superfluous apparel than to execute my resolution. Ignorant of
the means of transacting this humbling business, I had not the
courage to expose my poverty by asking instructions. I often
argued this point with myself; and proved, to my own entire
conviction, that poverty was no disgrace, since it had been the lot
of patriots, endured by sages, and preferred by saints. Nevertheless,
it is not to be told with what contrivance I obtained from
Cecil the information necessary for my purpose, nor with what
cautious concealment I carried it into effect. Having once, however,
conquered the first difficulties, I went on without hesitation:
it was so much more easy to part with a superfluous trifle than to
beg the assistance, or sue for the patronage, of strangers.

My last resource, however, proved even more transient than I
had expected. I soon found it absolutely necessary to bend my
spirit to my fortunes, and to begin a personal search for employment.
On a stern wintry morning I set out for this purpose, with
that feeling of dreary independence which belongs to those who
know that they can claim no favour from any living soul. I applied
at every music shop, and made known my qualifications at every
boarding-school I could discover. At some I was called, with forward
curiosity, to exhibit my talent; and the disgust of my forced
compliance was heightened by the coarse applause I received.
From some I was dismissed, with a permission to call again; at
others I was informed that every department of tuition was
already overstocked with teachers of pre-eminent skill.

At last I thought myself most fortunate in obtaining the address
of a lady who wanted a governess for six daughters; but having
examined me from head to foot, she dismissed me with a declaration
that she saw I would not do. Before I could shut the room-door,
I heard the word "beauty" uttered with most acrimonious
emphasis. The eldest of the young ladies squinted piteously, and
the second was marked with the small-pox

All that I gained by a whole day of wandering was the opportunity
of economizing, by remaining abroad till the dinner hour
was past. Heroines of romances often show a marvellous contempt
for the common necessaries of life; from whence I am
obliged to infer that their biographers never knew the real evils of
penury. For my part I must confess that remembrance of my
better days, and prospects of the dreary future, were not the only
feelings which drew tears down my cheek, as I cowered over the
embers of a fire almost as low as my fortunes, and almost as cold
as my hopes. We generally make the most accurate estimate of
ourselves when we are stripped of all the externals which serve to
magnify us in our own eyes. I had often confessed that all my
comforts were undeserved,--that I escaped every evil only by
the mitigation of a righteous sentence; but I had never so truly
felt the justice of this confession as now, when nothing was left
me which could, by any latitude of language, be called my own.
Yet, though depressed, I was not comfortless; for I knew that my
deserts were not the measure of my blessings; and when I
remembered that my severest calamities had led to substantial
benefit,--that even my presumption and self-will had often been
overruled to my advantage,--I felt at once a disposition to distrust
my own judgment of present appearances, and an irresistible
conviction that, however bereaved, I should not be forsaken. I
fear it is not peculiar to me to reserve a real trust in Providence
for the time which offers nothing else to trust. However, I
mingled tears with prayers, and doubtful anticipation with acts of
confidence, till my mind as weary as my frame, I found refuge
from all my cares in a sleep more peaceful than had often visited
my pillow when every luxury that whim could crave waited my
awaking.

I was scarcely dressed, next morning, when my landlady bustled
into my apartment with an air of great importance. She seated
herself with the freedom which she thought my situation entitled
her to use; and abruptly inquired, whether I was not seeking
employment as a governess? A sense of the helplessness and
desolation which I had brought upon myself had so well subdued
my spirit, that I answered this unceremonious question only by a
meek affirmative. Mrs. Milne then, with all the exultation of a
patroness, declared that she would recommend me to an excellent
situation; and proceeded to harangue concerning her "willingness
to befriend people, because there was no saying how soon she
herself might need a friend."

I submitted, resignedly enough, to the ostentation of vulgar
patronage, while Mrs. Milne unfolded her plan. Her sister, she
told me, was waiting-maid to a lady who wanted a governess for her
only child,--a girl about ten years old. She added, that believing
me to have come into Scotland with a view to employment of that
land, she had mentioned me to this sister; who, she hinted, had
no small influence with her mistress. Finally, she advised me to
lose no time in offering my services; because, as Mrs. Boswell's
plan of education was now full four-and-twenty hours old, nobody
who knew her could expect its continuance, unless circumstances
proved peculiarly favourable to its stability.

Though I could not help smiling at my new channel of introduction,
I was in no situation to despise any prospect of employment;
and I immediately proceeded to inquire into the particulars
of the offered situation, and into my chance of obtaining it. I was
informed that Mr. Boswell, having, in the course of a long
residence in one of the African settlements, realized a competent
fortune, had returned home to spend it among his relations; that
he was a good-natured, easy man, who kept a handsome establishment,
loved quiet, a good dinner, and a large allowance of claret;
that in the first of these luxuries he was rather sparingly indulged
by his lady, who, nevertheless, was a very endurable sort of person
to those who could suit themselves to her way. These, however,
were so few, that but for one or two persons made obsequious
necessity, the Boswells would have eaten their ragouts and drunk
their claret alone.

All this was not very encouraging; but it was not for me to
startle at trifles; and I only expressed my fear that the recommendation
of the waiting-maid might not be thought quite
sufficient to procure for me such a trust as the education of an
only child. "Oh! for that matter," said my landlady, "if you
put yourself in luck's way, you have as good a chance as another:
for Mrs. Boswell will never fash to look after any one but them
that looks after her."

Agreeably to this opinion, I had no sooner swallowed my spare
breakfast than I walked to George Square, to present myself to
Mrs. Boswell. I was informed at her door that she was in bed;
but that if I returned about one o'clock, I should probably find
her stirring. At the hour appointed, I returned accordingly; and
after some demur and consultation between the footman and the
housemaid, I was shown into a handsome breakfast parlour, where,
upon a fashionable couch, half sat, half lay, Mrs. Boswell.

Her thin sharp face, high nose, and dark eyes, gave her, at the
first glance, an air of intelligence; but when I looked again, her
curveless mouth, her wandering eyebrows, and low contracted
forehead, obliged me to form a different judgment. The last
impression was probably heightened by the employment in which
I found her engaged. From a large box of trinkets which stood
before her, she was bedizening herself and a pretty little fair-haired
girl with every possible variety of bauble. Each was
decked with at least half a dozen necklaces, studded all over with
mal-a-propos clasps and brooches, and shackled with a multitude
of rings and bracelets; so that they looked like two princesses of
the South Sea Islands. All this was surveyed with such gravity
and self-importance, as showed that the elder baby had her full
share in the amusement.

Mrs. Boswell did not rise to receive me; but she stirred, which
was a great deal for Mrs. Boswell. I made my obeisance with
no very good will; and told her, that hearing she wanted a governess
for Miss Boswell, I had taken the liberty to wait upon her.

Mrs. Boswell only answered me by something which she intended
for a smile. Most smiles express either benevolence or
gaiety; but Mrs. Boswell's did neither. It was a mere extension
of the mouth; she never used any other. "My pretty love,"
said she, addressing herself to the child, "will you go and tell
Campbell to find my--a--my musk-box; and you can help her to
seek it, you know."

"No, I won't!" bawled the child; "for I know you only want
to send me away that you may talk to the lady about that nasty
governess."

"I an't going to talk about any nasty governess. Do go now,
there's a dear; and I'll take you out in the carriage, and buy you
another new doll,--a large one with blue eyes."

"No you won't," retorted miss; "for you promised me the
doll if I would learn to write O, and you did not give it me then;
no more will you now."

"A pretty ground-work for my labours!" thought I.

The altercation was carried on long and briskly, mingled with
occasional appeals to me. "Miss Percy, did you ever see such
a child?"

"Oh yes, madam,--a great many such."

"She has, to be sure, such an unmanageable temper! But
then" (in a half whisper), "the wonderfullest clever little creature!
Now, do, Jessie, go out of the room when you are bid."

At last, command and stratagem being found equally unavailing,
Mrs. Boswell was obliged to take the course which many people
would have preferred from the first; and proceeded to her business
in spite of the presence of Miss Jessie.

"Can you teach the piano?"

"I believe I understand music tolerably well; and though I am
a very inexperienced teacher, I would endeavour to show no want
of patience or assiduity."

"And singing?" said Mrs. Boswell, yawning,

"I have been taught to sing."

"And French, and geography, and all the rest of it?"
I was spared the difficulty of answering this comprehensive
question by my pupil elect, who by this time had sidled close up
to me, and was looking intently in my face. "You an't the
governess your own self? Are you?" said she.

"I hope I shall be so, my dear."

"I thought you had been an ugly cross old thing! You an't
cross. Are you?"

"No. I do not think I am."

"I dare say you are very funny and good-natured."

Mrs. Boswell gave me a glance which she intended should
express sly satisfaction. "You would like to larn music and
everything of that pretty lady, wouldn't you?" said she to her
daughter.

"No. I would never like to larn nothing at all; but I should
like her to stay with me, if she would play with me, and never
bother me with that nasty spelling-book."

"Well, she shan't bother you. Miss Percy, what terms do you
expect?"

"These I leave entirely to you and Mr. Boswell, madam.
Respectable protection is the more important consideration with
me.

"To be sure protection is very important," said Mrs. Boswell,
once more elongating her mouth; and she made a pause of at least
five minutes, to recruit after such an unusual expense of idea.
This time I employed in making my court so effectually to the
young lady, that when her mother at last mentioned the time of
my removal to George Square, she became clamorous for my returning
that evening. A new set of stratagems was vainly tried
to quiet my obstreperous inviter; and then mamma, as usual, gave
up the point. "Pray come to-night, if you can," said she, "or
here will be no peace."

This presentation of Discipline: A Novel, by Mary Brunton
is Copyright 2003 by P.J. LaBrocca.
It may not be copied, duplicated,
stored or transmitted in any form without written permission.
The text is in the public domain.